


Whirligig

by Rosa_Cotton



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan (2003), Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: ATTENTION, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beginnings, Carnival, Conversations, Dancing, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, First Meetings, Imagination, Promises, Quiet, Romance, Sharing, Shyness, Understanding, Young Love, carousel, peter is peter, school girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Cotton/pseuds/Rosa_Cotton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even without an open window or a lost shadow, there is still a moment of unexpected paths crossing, of fantasy and reality colliding… AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whirligig

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Peter Pan_ , all characters, places, and related terms belong to J.M. Barrie.
> 
> Author’s Note: Inspired by the “Carousel Waltz” from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s _Carousel_.

The park usually is cloaked in the slumbering twilight, with none to hear the crickets’ symphony or see the lightning bugs’ glowing display. Only after dawn has broken does the place with its gardens, ponds, and many paths stir: nannies take their charges out for some morning air, children pass through on their way to school, young sweethearts happily meet. 

Tonight the park is alive, lighted like a bright star shining in the vast heavens. There is a famous fair visiting, and many have come far and near to take in this special event. The merry sounds of an organ fill the festive air. Bright-colored tents offer games, toys, and foods. Jugglers entertain and clowns give out balloons. And rides amuse and dazzle.

Several girls skip by the rides, disinterested, searching the crowds. One at the back of the group, barely thirteen, stops before the roundabout, white, blue, and red lights burning as its platform rotates to circus-like music. Her reflection is caught in one of the column’s mirrors for half a moment: rosy cheeks, blueberry eyes, brown wavy locks, and a small mouth with a kiss hidden in the right-hand corner. 

“Come,” her school friends return for her, their urgings a little impatient. 

“I see Jim over there,” one of them exclaims. 

The girl does not join her friends’ giggles or questions of “Where?!” Nor looks to see where the one points in response. This is not a surprise to her friends, though they cannot understand her. 

Almost a woman, she lingers back with her childhood instead of straining to leave it. Unlike her friends, she prefers children’s books to romantic novels. There are no longings for the day she will have grown-up dresses and wear her long hair up; no daydreams of balls, gentlemen, white wedding dresses. She takes no part in the girls’ gossip about the boys at the nearby school. 

It is when she weaves tales with her hands – “Queer adventure stories, wicked hook and flying child. Ha, ha!” they whisper behind her back – hugs her doll close, or gazes at the thousands of twinkling stars and dreams, that a sparkle makes her eyes clearer and bluer and an unfamiliar wistful smile touches her mouth.

This moment her dim eyes take in the white-, brown-, and black-painted wooden horses moving up and down on their poles while the ride spins. Everything – the richly designed saddles, the bright red and yellow platform, the mirrors, and colorful lights – makes it seem like the roundabout has stepped out of one of her fairy books. “Does it not seem almost magical?” she muses.

The peals of laugher and sighs of “You are such a dreamer!” roll off her like water drops, her faint smile remains undiminished, and she pays no heed to the persistent pull on her arm to move along. 

“The horses may come alive any moment and gallop home,” a new voice pierces the girl’s wonderings and silences her friends.

Beside them is discovered a boy. None had been aware of him before. The other girls blush for being observed behaving less than ladies should and, looking at the unknown boy again, blush again, more, for new reasons.

He is taller than all of them, perhaps the height of a fourteen-year-old. Yet his lightly tanned face looks younger while his green eyes seem old. Skeleton leaves dust the cap-less long blond curls that have not been combed recently. Dressed all in green, he is strangely barefoot. Beholding the school girls’ blushful stares, curiosity curls the corners of the boy’s mouth. Placing his fists on his hips, he bows deeply.

“Do you not think so?” he directs his question and gaze to the girl who has only had the courage to glance at him sideways, wondering at his seeming both so young and old, before looking towards the roundabout once more.

Hesitantly, she faces him fully. His expression is of interested expectation rather than jest. “Aye, they do,” she replies with a nod. Indeed, she had thought the very thing a moment before he voiced it. 

To her (and the others’) utter surprise, after silently studying her for a moment, the boy tilts his head back and crows like a rooster. His eyes twinkle at her as though she has given a very good answer, and a cocky smile reveals he still has his first teeth. (She has been warned about such cockiness. Yet this boy’s is childish, not charming and flattering, so she does not fear.) A sweet, shy smile slowly answers his. 

The bubble surrounding her – them – bursts suddenly and loudly. 

“How clever!” 

“That sounded just like a real rooster.” 

“How do you do it?” 

“Could you teach me?” 

“And _me?_ ” 

Her schoolmates swarm around the boy, shyness now turned to eagerness. Jim is forgotten. 

The rare sparkle which had started to glow in her eyes earlier now fades as she takes a step or two away from the group. The music from the roundabout calls out to her, and she watches the horses rise and fall, longing…

“Please do it once more.”

Another loud crow, sounding just as real and as proud as an actual rooster, fills the noisy air. 

“You are wonderful!”

“Yes, I know,” is the bragging reply.

She glimpses the boy among the girls, him grinning widely, fists back on his hips. His cockiness may be childish, but he is most certainly conceited, she decides. Making up her mind, she tells one of her classmates she’s going to get a ticket to ride the roundabout. The girl wordlessly nods, wide eyes fastened on the boy. Without a last backwards glance she goes.

Her excitement increases as she follows those in line and steps onto the now still platform. Awe fills her as she takes it all in. Turning her back on her reflection in the mirrors, she picks a chocolate brown horse, its bridle and saddle blue and white. Gazing a second, she runs a hand over its head and nose. 

“Where is your home?” she asks the horse.

“Neverland, of course,” the answer is spoken as though obvious.

As she hears the name of that unknown place, rainbows fly by her, tingles race up her spine, and she recalls the many dreams she’s had in the deep starry night. _Neverland._ Head turning to the left, she sees the mysterious boy is suddenly there. How, when she was certain her schoolmates had kept him to themselves, she does not know nor can guess. 

Quietly she repeats, “Neverland?”

“Aye,” his tone matches hers, as though it is their little secret, and he steps closer. “Second to the right and straight on till morning. Where dreams are born, and one never grows up.”

_Oh_. “I feel like I have known of it, almost, once…” she trails off. 

He has not appeared so serious until now. “You have.” Words breathed rather than spoken, she does not know if she hears or imagines them. 

A little to her amazement he assists her up onto the horse; she thanks him with a nod and a kind word. 

“Oh, the cleverness of me!” he crows, baby teeth coming out. 

“You’re conceited!” the words burst out of her and she turns her face away to the crowds. Some of her companions are near and wave to her. Half-heartedly she waves back.

Baby teeth retire, laughter-filled eyes darken. “Don’t withdraw,” the boy’s tone is cajoling. “When I’m pleased with myself, I can’t help but crow.” Receiving no response in word or manner, he goes on, a change in his lowered voice, “Please, sweet lady.”

Perhaps it is the words or the tone she discovers she cannot resist. He is rewarded by her turning her face back to its former place. The hints of a smile and swiftest of glances towards him convey her pardon. 

The ride starts, and butterflies erupt in her stomach with each rise and fall of the horse. Clinging to the pole, she almost anticipates the wooden animal will become real and break away for Neverland. A blush spreads over her cheeks when the boy does not seek a seat for himself but leans against her horse, observing her. Confused, she stares at her lap. 

“I wish I could see it,” she eventually murmurs. 

“Neverland? But you can.”

Pools of green and blue meet.

“If you close your eyes tightly and start for the second star, you can glimpse it.”

The girl closes her eyes and concentrates hard. She feels like the wind is rushing by her as though she’s flying. Large, winking bodies of light pass by. The brightest one, second to the right, waves and melts into a pool of lovely pale colors. As she is moving through it, the shades grow brighter and brighter and brighter still. Deep in the center for a moment she thinks she sees a ball of rainbows, and inside, so tiny, form taking shape—

“I see it!” she whispers breathlessly, eyes opening before the astonishing hues catch fire. “I see it!”

For a moment the world around her seems dim and dull. The roundabout rotates merrily, she moving with the horse, it no longer leaned on. Dazed, she does not spot the boy on any of the seats around her. Now where did he vanish to…? Gazing over the people, her eye falls on a lad in green whirling a girl about quickly. The ride circles once more, and she again sees the two. Yes, it is he leading one of her schoolmates on a wild dance, at risk of bumping into someone, unmindful of the few disapproving looks from passersby. _What a strange boy_ , she thinks. Just before losing sight of them again, she notices the fun expression on his face, can almost hear the delighted laughter escaping the girl as she tries to keep up; and the others observing, waiting their turn. 

Later, when she slowly, reluctantly slips down from the horse, she believes the strange knot tying her stomach has settled as she observed her classmates dancing. With a parting “Thank you,” and pat on the horse’s head, she steps off the ride, those short moments of fantasy and flight gone, soon to be forgotten. Making for her companions, she tells herself it matters not if she does not have the opportunity to say goodbye to the boy, who is no longer with them. It does not matter. 

A light touch on her lower right arm draws her eyes to the boy at her side as though by magic as his hand travels downward over her wrist to her hand. Against her will her eyes sparkle up at him; yet she manages to suppress a smile. The lady in her is uncertain and ready to object when her hand is lifted above her head, placed in the boy’ right one and his left hand claims hers between their waists. But everything falls away except for _him_ when she looks into his green eyes. Did they always appear like soft depthless pools? Had those stars in them winked at her before? A sweet waltz surrounds and carries the two on its notes until their slow moving in circles comes to an end. 

She returns to herself when she is released and reality comes rushing back; her cheeks burn hotly. Why did he do that, dance so slowly and quietly with her unlike with the other girls? What does it mean? What should she do? Helplessly she glances at him. 

First teeth flash at her, and something small is pressed into her hand as he whispers near her ear, “None of the others know of Neverland.”

“Do they dance like that in Neverland?” she asks, puzzled.

His smile is not cocky, one she cannot understand. “No and yes.”

“Wendy!” her name is snapped. 

She starts to back away yet is halted by her hand not being freed.

Somewhere, it is hard to know if it is distant or near, seemingly a chorus of twinkling voices cry, “Now, Peter!”

Frustration settles briefly on the boy’s face, and he looks upward with a scowl. 

“Well, goodbye…,” she says, adding almost questioningly, “Peter.” Unsuccessfully she attempts to step back. 

The dark cloud lifts when he returns his attention to her. Something subtly changes in his look. Then his expression grows mischievous. “I shall be back, Wendy-lady, for this.” And he inclines his head, his lips a ghost of a whisper against her warm cheek before withdrawing. Then he is gone among the crowd. 

She gazes after him, stunned. One hand drifts up, the other a protective fist at her side, unaware of her companions racing towards her with questions and demands and exclamations. She only shakes her head mutely and follows obligingly. Often her gaze wanders up to the sky.

It is not until she is in bed and gently brushing her thumb over the tiny acorn button – _Wendy-lady_ dancing in her head – that she hugs this new dream close to her heart. 

 

THE END


End file.
